


around and around (until we all fall down)

by sayorseee



Category: Z-O-M-B-I-E-S (Disney Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, human!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26091421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sayorseee/pseuds/sayorseee
Summary: Ten months ago, the world ended. A deadly virus that wiped out half the population suddenly wasn’t as deadly as everyone thought. The dead walked, and no one was safe. Addison believes in a cure. Zed will do whatever it takes to stay alive. Their paths cross in the midst of unforeseen circumstances, and they both find something neither was looking for.
Relationships: Willa Lykensen/Eliza Zambie, Wyatt Lykensen/Addison Wells (previous), Zed Necrodopoulus/Addison Wells
Comments: 13
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi welcome! This is my first story under this name. Quick facts before you go in! This is an apocalypse au to the DCOM Zombies! All your favorite characters, but thrown in an apocalypse! All the characters are human in this story, everyone is aged up like, ten years (except Zoey, who’s about 13). 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the story!

Addison Wells is a survivor.

She survived through the harsh winter in the middle of Arizona or Utah or Nevada, huddled in an empty motel room eating scraps of food her and Bree could find in the neighboring town before getting driven out by a contaminated hoard. She survived the never ending rain of spring, hiding in empty houses in what looked like Wyoming. She even survived the blazing summer sun, three contamination scares, and two faulty trucks.

Her and Bree get turned around on a good hunt. They knew they passed a little store that looked to be in some good shape, it was just past that bend, over that bridge, just past the water.

The current rips below them, rough ugly water beating against the rocks. The bridge is five, maybe ten feet above the water, it's wood dark, covered in moss, and looking more worn than it should.

"Addy, I'm not too sure about this," Bree tells her. "That bridge can't be safe."

"It'll be fine," Addison assures her. "It's lasted this long."

She offers Bree a smile, hoping to comfort her friend and only companion. Bree's worried look doesn't falter, so Addison just shakes her head and takes a step toward the bridge. "I'll go first," she whispers. She looks back at Bree and smiles again. "Once I'm across, you come along, okay?"

Bree doesn't move but Addison doesn't wait for her answer, taking a shaky step onto the wood. It groans and squeaks under her weight and for a split second, worry bubbles in her gut. She pushes it away, knowing if she overthinks, she'll screw up. The bridge will hold.

Her hands ghost over the baluster. She watches her feet, one foot in front of the other. The wood groans and whines with every step, sometimes giving a little under her weight. She's fine though, it's fine though.

Until she hears the unmistakable groaning of a contaminated hoard, too loud for them to be far. Just as she lifts her head, she hears Bree's frantic cry of her name from behind her. Her eyes widen at the sight—stiff jointed, stumbling, moaning, sickly green _people_ , making their way through the brush and towards her.

For a moment, fear keeps her frozen in place. There's always the moment of hesitation, where she thinks back on them once being people, someone she might have known or met once upon a time. Someone's son or daughter or mother or father. They're that and more, their brains and bodies infected with a disease no one could cure and no one would cure.

It's that last part, the knowing that if they're ever going to find a cure, then they need more survivors to help, that had her turning on her heels and running, the motion too quick and hard. Wood splitters under foot and she wants to ignore the sickening crunch as she runs, her stupid decisions catching up to her too fast.

Addison makes it three steps before the wood gives out completely under her and her left leg falls through the bridge, old wood and metal ripping her pants and into her skin. Then her whole body falls and she barely manages to catch the pier of the bridge in front of her and keep from falling into the river below. She cries out, unable to contain the pain but alerting the Sick behind her that she's there.

In front of her, Bree cries out for her, but it's the sound of the wood being boarded behind her that steals all of Addison's attention. She shouldn't have jumped on the bridge, they could've gone looking for food and supplies someplace else— _anywhere_ else.

She tries to grab onto something, to free herself, to get to Bree and run, save themselves, keep on _surviving_. The bridge rattles as more bodies climb aboard, more wood splintering and breaking, and Addison manages to give Bree one last fearful look, screaming out, " _Run_!" before the bridge completely collapses and she's falling, hitting the surface below with a sick crack.

* * *

Not even a full year ago, the world was shocked by an outbreak of global proportions.

It wasn't that bad at first. People thought it was just a weird cold hybrid. There were muscle aches and chest pains, and it hurt to breathe, and the headaches— _God_ , the headaches—but most people who had it recovered. It didn't even last a full week, not enough for anyone to give it an official name.

But that was only the beginning. It went from manageable to horrible. Everyone who had recovered was hit with a second, worse wave, with worse headaches and migraines, gastrointestinal troubles—almost a complete shut down, which was completely fascinating in Addison's health science class. After another few weeks of persistence, the disease, commonly referred to as _Ictus_ _Remittens_ , led to muscle cramps where their joints would move stiffly, and then wouldn't move at all.

The strange phenomenon that was IR was the focus of Addison's last few semesters before she would be done with college and know the basics of health science—maybe she would've gone to medical school someday, or pursued professional schooling for pharmaceutics or epidemiology. It didn't matter because before anyone saw it coming, everyone who thought they were fine wasn't, and ended up comatose, the last stage before they were dead.

There wasn't any one drug that would guarantee a cure and for a while, the only option was to lessen the risk of the spread.

Then it happened.

The dead weren't so dead after all. They were still sick, their brains nothing but mush. It wasn't too bad at first, a few walking bodies, previously thought to be dead, stumbling through the streets. The police and government turned a blind eye to it.

It wasn't until that day—a warm October day when Addison had finally finished getting her things together and was traveling halfway across the country with her best friend and half her life stuffed in a truck—that all hell broke loose. Hundreds of thousands of IR victims—whose bodies hadn't even been buried because they had died in such great numbers, too fast to be buried and too sick to be in a morgue around the well—stumbled and walked the earth, not quite dead and not quite alive.

With the armed forces flailing to gain control of the Contaminated, the well were left unattended, free to do as they pleased. First the world closed, afraid that if they kept their doors open, the previously 'contaminated' patients would stumble in and spread the disease to the well. If you didn't have a shelter, you were screwed.

Those who hid barely lasted a month.

Those who took advantage of their newfound freedom barely made it to the spring.

That left the survivors—regular people who fought for their lives, running from place to place, trying to make it out of the woods and into some semblance of safety—and the hunters—ex-militia or brave souls who hunted down the Walking Stiffs, trying to contain the uncontainable. Some even went as far as wiping out survivors who didn't serve much of a purpose, injured or weak, anyone they deemed unworthy of living through the apocalypse.

Those men judged who was worthy and who was not, but the apocalypse didn't.

* * *

Her head pounds, body aching from the fall and shivering from the water seeping through her soaked clothes and into her skin. She's sure she hit her head multiple times under the water, enough that she barely remembers the struggle to even stay surfaced. But she did, and, just her luck, she got stuck between a rock and log, managing to drag her body out of the river and into the dirt.

 _I'm gonna die_.

It's the only coherent thought running through her brain. If she doesn't bleed out first, some Contaminated would find her and kill her. Or even worse, a hunter would find her and kill her in cold blood. It's a lose-lose either way, a fact that reminds her that she can moan and whine as loud as she wants because she's going to die no matter what. She lays there, unable to keep from whimpering in pain and agony, wishing _something_ would kill her already.

The bridge wreckage isn't even visible and she's sure she spent too long trying to get air and survive and not enough time trying to gauge her surroundings. Whatever the case may be, she's far from where she had left Bree. There's nothing around for miles, save the trees and the river.

It makes her sad, knowing that the past ten months of survival were basically a waste. Ten months of running from place to place, squatting in abandoned homes or buildings, trying to survive in the post-apocalyptic hell that the world had become. All of it down the drain because of a stupid bridge and her heavy boots and a goddamn rip current.

She groans, a shiver ripping through her body. She's cold and wet and can't find it within herself to move or care. The throbbing in her leg overtakes her brain, stabbing at the back of her head. Everything weighs foggy and heavy and she's sure she'll pass out from pain, from exhaustion, from pure lack of will.

Bitterly, she can't help but wonder what life would've been like if she had done things different. If, ten months ago, she had gone home when her parents had asked, instead of staying an extra few days to help her best friend pack her last few belongings. She probably would've caught the last flight out of California and wouldn't have had to drive across the country. She wouldn't have needed to beg her boyfriend for his truck—who actually _was_ smart enough to go back to New Hampshire on an airplane weeks before she had.

She could've been at home with her family, with food and clothes and some semblance of security, rather than in the middle of nowhere with nothing but her one suitcase and her best friend when the world ended.

Her body aches and she rolls on her back, staring up at the rays of sunlight peaking in and blinding her through the canopy of trees. It's almost beautiful. A nice final view.

Her eyes drift close, and she hears the distinct crunch of leaves and breaking twigs, a clear sign of danger approaching. She lays there, in pain, fading in and out of consciousness, as the sick twist of fate lodges itself in her gut.

It hurts to stay conscious, but the sounds of someone approaching from above are enough to force her to fight off the headache, fight through the pain and try to protect herself. Even though she can't move, let alone stand on her own two feet and defend her life.

Dark spots cloud her vision and she fights hard to stay awake and aware, but every second it feels as if the approaching danger is getting louder, closer. A large shadow blocks her glimpses of the sky and she thinks, ' _This is it. This is how I die_.' Finally, she gives into her exhaustion. She'd rather be killed while she was already unconscious than have to suffer a million times over.

The world around her fades to background noise as she gets lost, swimming in the darkness that consumes her mind. Distantly there's the sound of someone climbing down the ravine. It's not a Contaminated. They don't have the motor skills to climb into the deep hole, they would've stumbled in, sliding downward, walking aimlessly around until they found someone else to spread the illness to.

Dirt kicks up near her face, almost enough to stir a reaction out of her. If she didn't feel like a pile of death already.

Above her, a deep, rough voice mutters a curse. "Hey, girl," he says. "Are you alive?" His foot nudges her head and she groans at the forced movement.

"Hey, girl." he says again. His foot kicks her side and she cries out, pain flaring through her ribs and spreading across her chest.

And suddenly, she doesn't want to die. _No_ , she refuses to die, her will to live stronger than ever. Pain courses through her every nerve but she won't go down like this, not yet. She was going to survive, even if it killed her.

Her eyes fly open, panic and adrenaline pumping through her veins. Her blood thunders in her ears but she can just make out the shocked curse from the stranger who was going to kill her. She grits her teeth and rolls onto her stomach. Her head spins and her vision momentarily goes black, but she gets to her feet. She can barely even feel her legs but she knows she's standing, something she didn't think she'd be able to do, and she blows her hair out of her face, glaring at the stranger.

He's tall and pointing a gun at her, and she stumbles back, dragging her right leg behind her. "Stay the hell away from me," she growls.

Her head swims. She tastes blood in her mouth and her nose stings. But the man in front of her hardens his own glare, cocking his gun. "Have you been bitten?" he barks at her.

Addison can't find it in her to actually scoff. Her body shivers despite the intense heat that's suffocating her, stinging her skin and only making her feel worse.

"No," she spits out.

"Don't lie to me, I'm not afraid to shoot."

"I fell in the river," she says. "And I _didn't_ drown. I don't plan on dying anytime soon either."

They stand there in silence. He watches her with such an intensity that, if she wasn't on the verge of passing out, would be uncomfortable. She's sure that if he doesn't kill her now, she'll collapse on the spot. And she wasn't quite sure if she preferred a long and drawn out death or to get shot point blank by this stranger.

But he lowers his gun, tucking it away in the back of his jeans, and holds his hands up in surrender. "Okay," he says slowly. "Look, Blondie, you look…you're covered in blood and dirt, and you're shivering. You look terrible and you probably feel even worse."

She frowns, despite the fact that he has a point. Something warm and thick drips from her nose and she sniffs, mostly to defy the man.

"I saw a convenience store like a mile back, pretty much untouched," he says. "I can show you the way, I'm sure there are some medical supplies."

"I'm fine," she protests. But her voice wavers and her vision momentarily goes dark.

When she comes to, cold mud digs into the heels of her hand and deep through her jeans. Her eyes fly open and she's staring at the ground, only a foot away from her face. Whatever it is that overcame her just minutes ago is gone, long gone. Everything in her body screams at her, Every slight movement sends ripples of pain throughout her body until she wants to scream. She tries to breathe but chokes and hunches over, coughing and spluttering, struggling for breath.

The man has an arm wrapped around her chest and pounds at her back, forcing her to cough so hard her eyes water. He does so twice, until she grabs his arm and squeezes. Then he rests his hand on her back, rubbing gentle circles into her skin. She takes ragged breaths. It looks strangely like she had coughed up blood, but she refuses to believe it was _that_ bad.

"You're okay," he soothes. "Can you stand up?" She shakes her head, not ready to even try. "Climb on my back, I'll carry you."

Slowly, she lifts her head, blinking. She can feel him next to her, his body heat engulfing her in the worst way possible. "Wh…what?"

"If you're as determined to live as you say you are, then I'm gonna have to get you to that store ASAP."

He moves in front of her and puts her arms around his neck. She grabs one wrist with the other and he grabs her thighs, pulling a wince from her throat. The pain quickly fades to a tingly numbness, like most of the pain she's feeling, and he lifts her off the ground with a huff.

"So, strange girl who I met in the woods," He pauses, then slowly climbs out of the ravine, then continues, "do you have a name? Or may I kindly refer to you as River Girl?"

Addison scoffs. "No you may not," she grumbles. "My name is Addison."

He whistles lowly. "Fancy name," he says. "Addison. It's pretty." Addison manages a tired giggle. She's pretty sure he's weird, though her brain is too foggy to properly distinguish his behavior. "I'm Zed. Three letters, easy to remember. Z-E-D."

"I could've guessed how to spell it," she mumbles. Still, she turns her face into his shoulder to hide her smile. He was definitely weird, but it was a nice change of pace.

"Are you out here by yourself, Addison?" Zed asks.

She almost says "No," but Bree's face flashes across her mind. _Bree_ , who she hadn't seen in god knows how long. She could be anywhere— _Addison_ could be anywhere. Who knew how long she had been drifting in that river. _Oh god_ , what if Bree thought she was dead.

Bree could be dead.

"Addison? Are you still awake?"

"Yeah I just—" She stops herself, barely registering the tears threatening to fall. "I was with my friend and we got separated and— _shit_ , what if she's dead?"

Zed's fingers dig into her thighs, and she stops talking. It hurts, but he's not pushing hard enough that she wants to scream again. It's more dull and barely even noticeable at this point, like most of the pain she's been feeling recently.

"Do you remember when you last saw your friend?"

Addison shakes her head. She doesn't even know what time it is—it's hard to see through the canopy hanging over their heads, and the sunlight burns her retinas, so she keeps her head tucked in his shoulder.

"I don't—I don't know how long I was out," she mumbles. "We were at a bridge, uh, up river? Or is it down stream?" She mumbles a curse. How could she forget the only person she's been with for the past ten months? She was an awful person, and awful best friend.

Zed taps her knees, pulling her out of her thoughts and back to reality. "Addy, calm down, okay?" he tells her. "Once you're all patched up we can retrace your steps to find her."

She wants to go back _now_ , but the aches and chills that wrack her body are enough to keep her in place. Plus, it's not like she could leave him if she wanted to.

Still, she asks, "You promise?" She needs to be sure.

"Promise," he says, "We'll find your friend, don't worry."

Addison sighs softly. Her head slumps on his shoulder and her eyes flutter closed. She was so tired. She'd only been conscious for a few minutes but, from the standoff to the never ending pain pounding against her nerves, she's exhausted.

But Zed bonks his head against hers. "Stay awake for me," he tells her. "You've definitely been through hell, but it's never good to fall asleep. Especially if you might have a head injury."

She hums softly. "And what makes you think I have a head injury?" she asks, her voice light, almost playful.

"Um, instinct? I don't know," he says, chuckling. "I mean, you fell in the river. I'm sure you hit your head at some point. Plus your forehead is bleeding." He pauses, then adds, "And your nose. And who knows where else."

Addison lifts her head and frowns. She didn't know her nose was bleeding. But she looks down at her arm and his shoulder and sure enough, there are a lot of drips of red covering his coat and her arm. "Oh."

Her head gets foggy and heavy and drops onto his shoulder again. She blinks, slow and groggy, every movement taking every drop of energy she has left in her.

Zed talks to her, asks her easy questions that she can only barely manage to answer. But he's nice, insanely, amazingly nice, nicer than most people are in the apocalypse.

Zed slows to a stop but Addison doesn't have the strength to lift her head to figure out why. He taps his head against hers and she blinks wearily, realizing that she was close to drifting off again. Her head was _killing_ her.

"Addison," Zed whispers. "I'm going to check out the store. Make sure there aren't any walking stiffs roaming around."

Zed bends down, setting Addison on the ground. Her butt hits the grass and she winces, pulling her arms from around his neck to stabilize herself. The strain on her arms and her back and just about everywhere shocks her system, almost enough for her to be wide awake again.

Zed turns around, still crouched. "I'll be right back, okay? Don't move, just stay awake for me, Adds."

Nodding would only worsen her headache so instead she lets out a quiet, barely heard, "Okay." Zed smiles, then stands, pulling his gun from his jeans.

He cocks his gun and goes inside, though the click of a bullet dropping into the chamber rings in her ears. And they don't stop. Her head spins, her ears ring. Time feels like nothing. She feels like she's going to throw up, like all her internal organs are throbbing, ready to be violently expelled from her body.

Addison whimpers. Everything blurs, her vision going double. Her whole body aches and her nose burns, every breath sends fire through her chest. She knows she shouldn't, that giving up was a death sentence, but keeping her eyes open makes her headache worse.

 _Just for a few seconds_.

Her eyes slip closed, and she slumps over in the dirt, everything around her fading to nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!! This update took forever because college is a pain! :D But never fear, chapter 3 is in the works!! Enjoy!!

She doesn't remember much of what happens next. Reality blends together. She can't even tell up from down.

She's moved around a lot, her skin feeling icy cold then stinging every time she manages to stay conscious for a few minutes.

She knows she's hurt very bad, and she hasn't properly rested or eaten a formal meal since the apocalypse fell. She's weak and exhausted beyond belief. It's honestly a miracle she made it this far.

Before the bridge, Addison had carried both a gun and a knife, both for protection—though the knife was more useful when it came to food—and had never used either against one of the Contaminated. She couldn't bring herself to hurt them. They were people, people who were sick and needed help. And she knows in her gut that there's a cure, that there's a way to save them all.

Sometimes, she even believed she could help find a cure. She did know an obscene amount about drugs and chemicals, all their interactions. It was her specialty in college, she was only a semester and a half away from graduating and professional school. Which wouldn't have happened if she had taken time off after high school. She could've been done and out there helping real people, studying the disease, doing something useful.

In her hazy dream state, she looks back on all the things she'd done wrong, all the times where one decision could've changed everything. She could be with her family instead of alone in the woods. She could have shot the Contaminated on the bridge instead of trying to run.

Could've, should've, would've.

All the _what-if_ s mean nothing because she _didn't_.

And now she was going to die in the middle of the apocalypse, alone.

* * *

In the darkness of her mind, a voice, distant, warbled, and barely recognizable fades into existence. " _A few more days, I promise. She's been in and out of it for a while, but I know she'll be up soon. And then I'll just get her to her friend and I'll head right back._ "

Addison groans. A headache starts throbbing at the back of her skull but she feels too groggy to even reach back and rub it, her limbs feeling like lead.

Another voice, even quieter, crackling in the distance, comes in. " _You promise? I don't like the idea of you being gone for so long. What if something happens?_ "

The first person speaks again. " _I'll be okay, I promise_." It's much clearer, low, rough, and distinctly male. And a little familiar, if she's being honest.

" _Fine. Is there anything else you needed?_ "

Rough fingers caress her cheek, sending shivers through her body. She shifts and whatever she's laying on squeaks underneath her. The person next to her chuckles quietly.

" _Can I talk to Zoey?_ " he says.

" _Yeah one second_." Static crackles in the room, then another person speaks. It has to be a little girl, maybe a teenager. She talks quietly, though her voice is high and rough.

" _Zed? It's Zoey. Do you copy?_ "

Zed, right. She remembers Zed. Tall, dark hair, dark eyes, pale skin, carried her out of the hole she'd wound up in and to her own safety. She opens her eyes, blinking several times to clear the haze. She's on her side, looking at a white sheet and dark, bulky pants.

"Hey Zoe, it's Zed. I copy. How are you?"

" _I'm good. I miss you. When are you coming back?_ "

Addison turns, Feeling her sore and stiff muscles tighten as she does. She lifts her eyes and sees him—still pale, same dark hair and dark, kind eyes. Despite the fact that he'd pointed a gun in her face, he was incredibly kind from what she remembered after that.

"Just a few more days," he says. He catches her eye and smiles. "And I found your favorite chips. All the bags are still sealed, so they're probably not even stale."

" _Oh yay! I need those ASAP, Zed._ "

Zed chuckles. "Just a few more days. I promise, Zoe."

The person on the other end of—whatever it was that Zed was using to speak—chuckles. Zed's fingers brush across Addison's cheek, grazing through her hair and she smiles contently. It's nice and domestic and a complete 180 from everything she'd experienced the past few months.

"I gotta go. But I'll talk to you tomorrow."

" _Okay. Bye Zeddy_."

Addison grins despite herself. It's an adorable nickname that only someone really close to him would use. It could be his girlfriend, or whatever romantic partners are in the apocalypse. She remembers calling her boyfriend ' _Wubby_ ,' which, she admits, isn't very creative and he actually _hated_ the nickname. At least, he hated it when anyone but her called him that. Only _she_ could call him that.

"Bye Zoe," Zed says. Something clicks, and Zed pulls his hand away from her face. He stands up and the surface squeaks as he does. Addison can't help but frown, missing him beside her. Which is crazy because she doesn't know anything about him. It just _feels_ like he's supposed to be next to her, comfort her, take care of her.

"How you feeling, Addison?" Zed asks.

"Good," she croaks out, her voice hoarse and quiet. She clears her throat, making Zed chuckle, and says again, "Good."

"Really?" She can hear the skepticism in his voice. "Can you sit up?"

She probably can't. Every muscle in her body is tense and stiff. But she can't know unless she tries.

She's prepared for the worst—shooting, fiery pain that rips through every nerve ending, making black spots dance in her vision. What she actually gets is…underwhelming. Her elbow pops and she knows she needs a good stretch from how her shoulders ache, but sitting up doesn't take much more effort than it normally does.

Addison takes a customary look around. They're in a small space, just big enough for a messy desk and the cot that she's sitting on. Zed is standing by the door, watching her. She surveys him for the first time—his black jeans hang loosely on his hips, nothing on his feet but plain black socks. His tee shirt is dark green, most likely to blend into the woods. He's got dark hair that swoops naturally on his head, and soft facial features—soft cheeks, smooth-curved jaw, even soft eyes.

Guys like Zed shouldn't be in the apocalypse. He looked nice, like he'd be friends with everyone, from teenagers to little kids to the elderly. And she bets he was nice, before the apocalypse. From the way he took care of her, showing up when she needed him most, it was clear he had a good heart. One that hadn't been rotted by the state of the world.

There's not much else to the office after Zed. Cheap fluorescent lights give a dim, white glow to the ugly room.

Zed walks over to her, getting down on his knees in front of her. He's still tall too, just a little bit below her eye line, and it makes her want to pout. Tall people always bugged her, mostly out of jealousy. She's only an inch or two over five foot, and he looked at least a foot taller than her, maybe more. She knows she shouldn't actually be mad—he saved her life, his height wasn't important.

Zed gives a soft sort of smile that makes all thoughts of his height vanish. He looks too nice for the world. He looks her in the eye and asks, "What's your name?"

Had she not told him her name? She tries to remember, but can barely think back to a few minutes ago when she first woke up. "Addison," she tells him, a cloud of confusion on her face.

He chuckles softly. "I just want to see how much you remember," he explains. "Do you know my name?"

She nods. There's a pause before she realizes he expects her to say it. "It's Zed."

"Yep," he says with a smile. "What's the last thing you remember?"

She frowns. Thinking makes her head pound harder, to the point where she wants to close her eyes to soothe the ache. Zed places a rough and calloused hand on her knee comfortingly. She looks down at him, her vision temporarily blurry until she blinks and squints to see him. He gives her a gentle, reassuring smile. "Take your time," he says. "Can I change your bandages while you think?"

"Yeah."

He nods then stands up, moving to sit behind her on the cot. "Can you take off your shirt for me?" She nods and starts to pull, only to discover she's actually sitting on it. She looks down to find herself in a faded orange tee shirt that practically swallows her. She's not sure if she's got pants on—from the looks of it, she doesn't. Hell, she doesn't even think she's got on _underwear_. Wait, no, she can definitely feel underwear—fresh underwear. She doesn't know how to feel about that and chooses to ignore it all together.

She leans forward and groans at the strain in her back. Zed helps her pull the giant shirt from under her butt. She sits back and he slowly lifts it up her body and over her head, being extra mindful of every hiss of pain and strain she makes. Once it's off, she sighs and slouches in her seat.

She doesn't even want to look down. She knows that there's a ton of bandages from the way they pulled on her skin when she had taken off her shirt. And seeing the actual damage will just make her feel even more crappy.

Zed shuffles around the small office and Addison thinks back to as far as she can remember. It's mostly fuzzy, bits and pieces here and there. She knows she fell in a river, and Zed found her by the river side. She knows they talked—how else would she know his name?—but she can't remember any details. And she knows where she is, just the details of how she got there don't exist in her brain.

That's what she tells Zed, as he walks back over to the bed, carrying an arm full of medical supplies. He dumps them on the bed and sits next to her this time. "Yeah, you've got the right idea," he says. "It's only been a little more than a day." He shrugs. "You've been in and out of it, muttering in your sleep. Lift up your arms."

She does as he asks, and he starts to pull on the edge of a bandage stuck to her right side. "Can I—ah, ow—Can I ask you a question?" she asks.

Zed nods. He goes ahead and pulls harder and faster on the bandage, and Addison bites her lip, whimpering at the pain of her skin being pulled up by the adhesive. He gives her a sheepish smile, muttering, "Sorry."

Her lips twitch in an almost smile, one that can tell him that it's fine. She waits for him to peel off the gauze on her chest, then the bandage on her arm that reveals a long, deep cut running from her shoulder to halfway down her forearm. Looking at it makes her stomach turn, so instead she looks down at her knees. Zed doesn't bother with the bandages on her ankles, turning to grab a water bottle and rag.

He starts to unscrew the cap and asks, "What did you want to ask me?"

"Oh, um, who were you talking to?" His eyebrows jump in mild surprise. He stays quiet, clearly trying to figure out his next words while pouring water onto the rag. She doesn't rush him, just sits and watches as he works and thinks.

"Was it you girlfriend?" Addison asks quietly. Zed blinks, making a surprised noise. "It's okay if you need to get back to her. I'll be okay."

Zed chuckles. "No, it was my friend—and my little sister." Addison goes quiet, embarrassment settling in her chest. It makes her mouth dry and her tingle. She definitely shouldn't have assumed, and now she looks and feels like a clown.

Zed continues talking, not noticing Addison's sudden discomfort. "We've been riding out the zombie uprising together," he explains. "Me and my sister were flying out to California when the world went to shit. Lucky we had a layover here, though."

Addison nods along. "Where is 'here?'"

Zed looks at her, amusement twinkling in his eyes. "We had a layover in Nebraska, of all places. _Nebraska!_ " He laughs, a joyous, bubbling sound that is strangely comforting. She hasn't heard anything like it in so long it surprises her. And, despite herself, a slow smile spreads over her face.

"I didn't know I was in Nebraska," she says.

He laughs more. "Right? Like who would think they'd end up in Nebraska in the apocalypse? It's insane!"

She can't help but laugh. It feels strange. Laughing, being happy, finding _joy_ in a time like this. And at the same time, it doesn't. The way Zed is—joking, carefree, happy—it makes everything that should feel weird feel normal, in the weirdest way possible.

"Lemme stop making fun of it," he says with a grin. "I mean, it's pretty awesome here. A lot of the stores are still stocked, so it's not too hard to find food and water." He pauses, a teasing smile playing at his lips. "Or medical supplies, for when I run into girls who like to fall into rivers."

Addison lets out an indigent squawk that makes him laugh, his head falling back. She manages to lightly smack his thigh with her good hand, pretending to be more offended than she actually is.

"The bridge broke!" she cries. "And I was being _chased_."

"Uh huh, uh huh," he nods. "So I should call you Bridge Girl and not River Girl?" He throws in a wink that makes her laugh more.

"You should call me Addison, because that's what my name is," she says.

He lets out a breathy chuckle. "It's a nice name," he admits. He turns the damp cloth in his hand, looking down at his knee almost shyly. Finally, he whispers quietly, "It suits you."

Her cheeks grow hot and she glances away from him, muttering a thanks. It falls quiet between them after that, a comfortable silence while Zed cleans the sensitive skin around her wounds.

"Do you feel any better?" Zed asks. "I mean, you were doing kinda—terrible, honestly."

She cracks a small smile. Zed tosses the rag to the other end of the bed and grabs for the gauze and dressing. "I feel better," she assures him. "You don't have to stay with me. It sounded like your friend and sister really miss you."

Zed scoffs. He tells her to lift her arms, which she does, and he goes about dressing the gash along her ribs. "Eliza—my friend—is just dramatic. She doesn't like when I'm gone for long, but she'll eat her words when I bring back this haul."

She nods. He taps her shoulders and she brings her arms down, letting him move onto her arm. "And Zoey is fine. It's just," he shrugs, "We're all each other has, ya know? It's always just been us."

He stops talking and Addison chews her lips thoughtfully. She wants to ask for more, but knows she shouldn't. As much as she'd like him to elaborate, it's not her business. She barely even knows him, and as soon as she finds Bree, she won't see him again—maybe even sooner, if he leaves her to find Bree by herself, which he should. He was already kind enough to stay with her and take care of her. She couldn't keep him from his sister any longer than she already had.

"I mean," Zed continues. "It just sucks sometimes. The world, I mean. I remember joking in high school making an all star apocalypse team. But I never thought...I don't know, it's dumb."

Addison shrugs pathetically. "If it's any consolation, no one thought I'd last long in an apocalypse. They all thought I was too soft."

Zed giggles, glancing up at her. "I find _that_ hard to believe." She raises an eyebrow and he laughs a little more. "You threatened me for like, three minutes straight!" he says defensively.

"You were gonna kill me!"

He laughs harder at that, and she smiles too. "That's fair, I guess."

She scoffs. "You guess?"

He smiles and nods, and she snorts out a laugh. He presses the last piece of tape against her skin, then gives her a wider grin. "Okay, what do you want to wear? The clothes you had are pretty much ruined, but I did find some pretty cool, badass apocalypse fashion. Or you can go simple and—" He gestures vaguely, then explains, "big tee shirt."

She pretends to think, even going as far as stroking an imaginary beard. Zed laughs. "Okay, okay. Badass apocalypse fashion it is."

He leans back on the bed, grabbing a backpack off the floor with a grunt. When he swings it around, Addison realizes it's _her_ bag. But it's...stuffed full. Which is strange, considering she hadn't been able to restock it in several weeks.

Zed notices her wide eyed confusion and gives her a sheepish smile. "I already raided this place, and figured you could use some stuff," he explains. "I hope that's okay."

She gives him a small smile. "Thank you," she says earnestly. "You're...You're really nice."

He shrugs. "Just doing what anyone else would do."

She highly doubts anyone else would help her, even before society crumbled, but she doesn't say this. Instead she watches as Zed pulls out the rolled up clothes from her bag, placing it, then the bag on the bed before standing. "I'm gonna go grab us some food. Hope you like soup, because that's all we have!"

He throws her a wink that makes her giggle, and then he's gone, pushing the door closed behind him. Addison's eyes linger on the space he had just been occupying. This man, this strange man who had not only stayed with her until she was better, but had treated her like she mattered. None of it makes any sense, and yet it does at the same time. It hurts a little on the inside to think that, once she finds Bree, he'll be gone—out of her life, a passing shadow that will only live in her memories.

She pushes those thoughts away. Slowly, she stands, groaning at the stiffness in her back. Part of her knows she should stretch and pop the muscle to relieve the tension, but another part is afraid of messing up the bandages—or, worse, opening some of her healing cuts.

Instead, she focuses on getting dressed. She's already got on briefs, and pulls on the thick jeans Zed had given her, managing to button and zip them up before getting too light headed to stand. She sits, blinking the black spots from her vision. Her head feels foggy and tingly, but it passes slightly after a few seconds. Enough that she can pull on a loose, dark colored long sleeved shirt. There's a jacket as well as socks and boots, but the effort it took to get dressed makes her pass on them, instead laying back on the bed.

She must have drifted off because the next thing she knows, Zed is tapping her shoulder, whispering, "Addison, wake up, I brought soup."

She groans, turning onto her side away from him. She doesn't _feel_ hungry, and she'd much rather sleep than eat. She tells him this much too, or at least she tries too. What ends up leaving her mouth is a tired, slap-happy sounding, "You're my soup bitch." And then she knocks out.

* * *

Her senses are flooded with dirt—dirt and water, choking her, suffocating until it's all she can taste, smell, see. It's salty and stings her every nerve, burning at her throat as she struggles to draw a breath— _in and out, in and out - have to breathe, have to live, have to get up and fight and live and die_. But every breath sucks more and more water in until all she can taste is the water, the dirt, consuming her from the inside out. Darkness claws at her vision again and the water is heavy in her chest, pulling her down and down. Her legs scrape against the bottom, sharp rocks and god knows what else grating against her skin.

She gasps, her eyes flying open, a crushing weight sitting on her chest. Every breath is sharp and ragged. She rolls, coughing and spluttering, struggling for every breath. _Drowning, drowning, I'm drowning_ —

Something grabs her around the middle, yanking her up and backwards. She gasps out a scream, her muscle in her body protesting at the sudden movement. She feels something rip, a violent tearing of what she soon realizes is her own skin.

"Addison! _Addison!_ "

Who _the hell_ is that? The voice is too deep the be Bree, but it matches the level of panic Bree usually has. She can't help but wheeze and struggle against the stranger harder, barely managing a scream. She can't breathe, can't _move_. _Drowning, drowning, drowning_.

"Addison, you need to breathe. Deep breaths, okay."

The river thunders against her eardrums, pounding, suffocating her. ' _I'm drowning I'm drowning—"_

"Come on just _breathe_ Addison," the person pleads. "You're okay, you're okay, just breathe, _please_."

She coughs, choking on water—water that isn't there. Every breath _hurts_ , air stinging as it travels down her throat and into her lungs. It's crispy and painful, but it's _air_ , flooding her lungs, heaving her chest.

"Yeah, just like that," the person—no, she knows the voice. It beats against the base of her skull, a dull memory that's slowly coming to fruition. It's Zed, the man who'd saved her from the water, kept her from drowning. Reality comes crashing into her, and she's no longer just breathing. Her next breath comes out aching, followed by an onslaught of tears.

Everything hits her at once in the worst possible way. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees herself falling, sees Bree's panic, sees how she should've _died_.

The arms wrapped around her tighten slightly, reminding her that Zed is there. She tries to focus on his hold on her, visualizes him being the anchor keeping her grounded. "Deep breaths," he reminds her. "You're okay. We're okay."

She squeezes her eyes shut, turning until she's hiding her face in his chest and sobs. She doesn't know how long she sits there, sobbing into his shirt. Zed doesn't do anything—he sits there and holds her, gently rubbing her back as she recovers from the hellish nightmare that plagued her sleep.

It's not until she's run out of tears, hiccuping and wheezing into his chest, does she attempt to lift her head, eyes landing on his soft, sad smile. She wants to say ' _I'm sorry_ ' but can't, her lips quivering. Somehow though, she knows that he understands, that he knows and gets it. The end of the world changes people in the worst ways possible.

His eyes are heavy like he's seen some trauma too, something terrible that weighs on his soul.

"Bad dream?" he whispers. She nods.

He nods grimly. "Hungry? I've got cold soup."

She shakes her head. "Can…Can we just sit here for a minute?"

"Yeah," Zed says quietly. She slowly leans forward, resting her cheek against his chest once again. "I got you," he whispers reassuringly. His chest rises and falls slowly, calmly, a steady _thump, thump, thump_ deep inside that belongs to his beating heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Questions? This chapter is a personal favorite despite the fact that I have no idea what the rest of this story will be like and I'll probably say this again and again.

**Author's Note:**

> You’ve made it this far! If you wanna stick around make sure you click the subscribe button, drop a kudos, leave a comment, whatever! Check me out on tumblr for story updates or random posts or whatever. My username is [zedforprez](https://zedforprez.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Until next time, peace!


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